Warriors: Silverjaw's Sorrow

Chapter Five

Cold claws crept into Silverpaw's pelt, sinking past her skin and deep into her bones. A shiver broke from her ears to tail tip, and as she woke, she fluffed out her fur to negate the chilly morning.

    Her golden eyes flashed around. Dawn light trickled in from the den entrance, bringing with it the crisp smell of cool air. Her eyes were crusted with dry tears, and she quickly licked a paw and drew it across her face to hide the evidence of her nightmares. Then, she twisted her neck around and gave herself a scrupulous grooming, applying more effort into her appearance than she had in moons.

    Once her fur was nicely groomed, Silverpaw glanced around to see that Wishfern was still fast asleep. A spark of surprise ignited in her chest, as typically, the medicine cat was awake well before dawn. She tested the air, noticing the light smell of the lake mingled with the soft herbalescent scents of WindClan, ThunderClan, and ShadowClan's medicine cats.

    It must've been the Half-Moon Gathering last night, Silverpaw realized. Nausea gathered in her stomach at the thought of Wishfern roaming the lake on her own. How can she possibly feel safe while knowing of the dangers that lurk?

    She closed her eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her racing mind. She was certain that the rogues would strike again, as she had shared with Pinestar, Salmonskip, and Wishfern. But when and where, she was just as clueless as anyone else.

    The next victim could've been Wishfern while the kind she-cat had been visiting with the other medicine cats. But it wasn't, she recognized, digging her claws into the moss of her nest.

    The loud gurgle of her stomach interrupted her thoughts. Silverpaw flattened her ears with a grimace, and reluctantly, she dragged herself to her paws and padded out of the den. It was barely dawn, purple-tinged light flitting across the dark morning sky. The frosty floor prickled bitterly at her paws, reminiscing over the forgotten cold night.

    All that remained in the fresh-kill pile were leftovers from the previous evening. The pre-dawn patrol had yet to return, but it would only be a matter of time until the pile was overflowing with fresh, delicious prey. That was one thing Silverpaw would always be grateful for; the fact that RiverClan had a never-ending supply of fish in their rivers.

    Silverpaw nosed through the meager contents and fetched three small minnows. She dragged them from the pile and devoured the morsels in a few swift bites. Once finished, she drew her tongue briskly across her muzzle to clear away any remains. She paused, her bristled tongue lingering momentarily on her right cheek, naked of fur. She didn't even know what the scars looked like, and merely the thought of how different she must look was frightening.

    The reed-woven entrance to the camp shivered. Three cats strolled through. Crowspots, with her tired-looking apprentice, Toadpaw, and then Aspentail. They carried a few plump fish each, paws covered in mud and water glistening across their pelts in the early morning light.

    Crowspots was the first to deposit her catch, a water vole and a fat catfish. Silverpaw watched for a heartbeat. She approached and gingerly snagged the catfish by its gaping mouth, backing away and silently meeting the inquisitive warrior's eyes. She didn't linger any longer than she needed to as she turned around and began her swift retreat to the medicine den. She could feel Toadpaw's eyes burning into the back of her neck.

    She poked through the ferns. Wishfern was finally awake, later than usual, but not too much so. Silverpaw could tell that the white she-cat was tired, from her sagging eyelids to the heaviness in her typically fluid movements.

    "Good morning," the medicine cat acknowledged, her expression brightening at the large fish dragging from Silverpaw's mouth.

    Silverpaw placed the fish on the floor. She nudged it in Wishfern's direction. "Good morning, I thought you might want something to eat."